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Time moved on like an illusion, the serpent entwined weasel struggling to discern reality from fantasy as his body constantly cycled between ravaging lust and desperate exhaustion. Clarity was a gasp from above the surface of the ocean, respite from an endless pattern of sexual trauma. As time passed, the two serpents leaked pints of reptilian seminal fluid into Dragonfly's guts, eventually bloating his guts. Sparse interactions accompanied his near dreamlike state with the raccoon offering him food and water he greedily devoured, usually followed by a round or two of cum pumping into his stomach to join the provided nutrients.

Insanity gripped at his consciousness, threatening to disassociate his mind from his body, at times feeling as though he was simply watching his body being utterly defiled. His master was sure to remind him of his situation whenever he visited, teasing his vulnerable cock and balls, making him beg to feel relief. Each time the ermine gave in, he felt some amount of his dignity permanently vanish, corruptive desires rushing through his thoughts more often than even the desire for freedom. At some point, the slave accepted his predicament, no longer hating the raccoon and his snakes, but embracing the company and stimulation they forcibly offered.

Maybe five hours had passed, perhaps it had been five months, but Dragonfly's eyes snapped open with realization as the serpents began to exit from his intestines. Fangs detached from around what were excessively engorged nipples and four reptilian peni schlorped from his pucker. A sigh of sheer weariness fell from his spread lips, followed by a gush of thick, white syrup that coated the carpet and his butt cheeks with equal quantities. His white head hung limply downwards, tongue lolling as streams of drool smacked the floor underneath him with a sharp thud.

His pecs looked moderately swollen, bulging outwards from his body as though he had achieved the biggest pump in his life. Dribbles of milky white fluid plummeted from each nipple, much like Dragonfly had expected them to once the serpents had finished their work. Minutes ticked on as his blue eyes watched the snakes lazily coil around themselves, drained and ready to sleep. Relief hugged the sex slave's existence, letting his whole body rest against the pull of the chains that still held him helplessly bound and spread open.

Many visitors had watched the lewd, immoral copulation from across the bars, jacking off from a distance. They never approached or dared touch his body, as he assumed his master had commanded, but their presence etched a known future for the slave. There was no doubt he would be used extensively by them in time, but Dragonfly prayed that he'd be given enough time to recover from the haze of ecstatic hell he'd been forced to endure. Drool continued to spill from his jaws as serpentine cum splattered endlessly from his guts.

By the time his master arrived to check up on his slave once again, Dragonfly had passed out, his whole body nothing more than a quivering mess kneeling over a puddle of spunk soaked carpet. A few soft strokes over the matted head fur and black tipped ears brought his slave back to consciousness. He watched as his slave's eyes gently fluttered open, grinning back at them as his paws slid through the copious volume of sperm between his protruding ass cheeks. The raccoon kept at it for a good minute, smearing the excess over his slave's lower back, tracing around the design of his insect tattoo.

"Good to see you're still breathing, boy. Looks like my two serpents worked you over very well, but you survived the experience, as I expected. Still, though, you look even more attractive than I imagined."

Those same paws moved towards the ermine's front side, gently squeezing both nipples. Scurvy grunted in full approval as a weak stream of milk jetted out from the nubs, ears swiveling as the weasel mewled out in unwelcome pleasure. His dark grey furred fingers teased around the weasel's white furred pectorals, softly petting him with sharp claws, stimulating the glans hidden underneath the muscle for a solid minute. When he squeezed the nubs once more, the raccoon hissed as another stream of milk pulsed from them, showcasing how much effect his serpents had infected his musteline sex slave with.

"I've made sure to keep my men at length as I broke your body and spirit. Hope that you would survive initiation spurred me into making deeply invasive affronts on your body, and it's highly satisfying to see I was correct. Starting today, you will be unchained, but guarded. Two of my men will stay at the entrance to your room at all times to ensure you can't escape. When their shift has ended, they will enter your cell and be rewarded by plundering your body for as long as they like."

Dragonfly clenched his toes and eyes as those words punched him in his already cum stuffed gut. It was an improvement, a step upwards, but so little of him desired further sexual interactions right now. His libido was totally drained courtesy of the constrictors, but his master did not have the facial expression, tone, or demeanor of one who would be persuaded otherwise. Defeatedly, the weasel nodded his head in acknowledgement, accepting the future suffering that was soon to arrive.

"You'll likely have a couple hours in between each session to rest and recover, so I suggest you sleep in between each and every one. In time, over the course of months, I will talk to my men. They will tell me how much they enjoyed violating every part of your body, how well you served and worshipped their organs. As I hear more and more, my decision for how you will spend the majority of your sentence here will be influenced.

Do poorly, and I will allow my animals to use you as they please until you die. Do well, and I will start considering what other advantages your addition to my gang can bring besides only the sexual gratification the use of your beautiful frame currently delivers. My first guard will arrive shortly, so I advise you to sleep well. Until then, however."

Scurvy brought his body towards the front of his slave, using his shoulders to support his upper chest. Pulling a key from a necklace that hung from his neck, he used it on the wrist cuffs that had held the ermine's arms up for weeks. The raccoon caught them as they fell, softly and gradually lowering them, massaging the stiff shoulders as they relaxed from tormented strain. His body held the slave's neck safely upright, ensuring he didn't choke on his collar, and then unlocked it as well.

The weasel let out a cry of elation as he was lowered to the ground, his fingers digging into the still highly damp carpet. Joy sparked through his senses at just the mere sensation of ground underneath him that would support his whole body, much unlike the chains and cuffs had. Debilitating levels of soreness pulsed through his shoulders, pins and needles rushing through long starved nerves in his forearms, wrists, and fingers, but his mind welcomed the pain.

Soon, the slave felt his legs freed from their metallic wardens, his ankles now given the ability to move once more. When the ermine tried to close his legs, however, he felt the raccoon's body sink in between them, his crotch pressing against Dragonfly's rump. The slave wasn't surprised whatsoever by that, but chirped as he felt his master's arms slide under his upper chest and roll him over. He looked up at the ceiling now, his legs spread out to the sides, a long raccoon cock lightly throbbing just behind his ass. His own dark blue/black shaft laid against his lower belly, though the weasel knew it wouldn't be long before it was pulsing and stiff.

Entry into his rump was done with a bit more care than the first few times, coaxing open his bruised and overused anus before gliding all the way home in a smooth slide. Whining out in mild protest, Dragonfly shifted a few inches in his master's grasp, shivering as the dark grey paws moved to his nipples. Milk spilled out and ran down his collarbone and ribs, the physical component of the surge of electric thrill echoing under his pecs.

Scurvy licked over his slave's collared neck, nibbling at the flesh while he remained hilted, but motionless, inside him. Each quiver of the ermine's body made his sheathed penis twitch. The flesh could feel the leftover stickiness of weeks of oozed serpentine lust that remained in his guts, so thick it would take days of unhindered leaking to seep out. Never would his sex slave be given remotely enough time to ever dry his anal passage out, not for as long as the procyon could wrap his paws around his sultry frame.

There was absolutely no need to rush the breeding of his mustelid thrall, for the longer he took, the less time Dragonfly would have to recover before the first pair of guards spread him out. Months would pass before the raccoon would ever consider the incredibly arousing slut for any other line of work. Chances certainly existed that he'd keep him as a sex slave for the entire duration of his time under the surface, perhaps even hiding him from the dungeon wardens to ensure he never left. Rare was there such a male specimen that elicited as much desire in Scurvy's loins as this insect trophy.

Milk trickled out of the slave's nipples, dampening his chest fur, leaving him to shudder and moan in unfamiliar delight. The slave's shaft soon hardened, standing slightly askew, the tip twitching an inch above the edge of his soft belly fur. Scurvy flicked the jeweled rings up and down, toying with the metal adornments in many ways while he lingered unmoving in the hot innards of his plaything. The weasel shook above him, whimpering as stimulation raced over his torso with a level of intensity he hadn't endured before.

By the time his master finally began to move inside his pucker, Dragonfly's penis was rock hard, with a few major veins bulging under the flesh. Precum dripped out, the translucent fluid mixing with the already present sweat on his crotch fur. The excess liquid streamed down his hips and butt, tickling his sides, his breaths unsteady. Inch after inch of raccoon flesh pulled out from his slick internal corridor, tickling overstimulated nerves and a wildly abused prostate. Saliva foamed a bit from the ermine's still spread jaws, sputtering out as he let out a weak cough.

From this angle, Dragonfly found it difficult to breathe through the thick saliva bubbling in the back of his throat. As he felt his master gilde back into him, the tip bumping up against his loose colon sphincter, he turned his head to the side, trying to cough out what he could. A hard bite on the back of his neck straightened his head back out, forced to keep looking at the ceiling. The teeth sunk in, once again breaking skin and digging into flesh, disabling Dragonfly to turn his head anything more than a dozen or so degrees in either direction. Groaning, he stilled his head, sapphire blue eyes locking on the barrier above him.

The incapacitated sex slave began to struggle to take full breaths again as his unswallowed spit slowly drained down to the back of his throat. Toes and fingers flexed as his procyon owner slowly and fully fucked him. Each slow piston worked the bright red shaft from tip to base, the weasel's pucker stretching out obscenely wide every time. Spit leaped out from his gagged lips as Dragonfly coughed again, doing what he could to stave off aspirating his own drool. It bubbled down his left cheek as his master grunted in approval, flexing his knees up in order to raise the angle of his slave's lower waist.

A gurgled whimper followed from the slave's larynx, feeling extra pressure applied to his prostate as the angle drove more directly into his rectum. With the upward angle, the constant drives of the raccoon's cock pushed precum and the mixtures of sweat and semen deeper into his depths more than it pulled any out. From the more direct penetration, the weasel could feel the tip spearing into his large intestine, spilling occasional throbs of clear fluid into his guts. The warmth soothed his agitated flesh, though it did nothing to quell the sexual exhaustion his innards felt.

Scurvy gyrated back and forth, taking the extra time to make sure each thrust was full in length and stimulation. He was determined to make his slave feel every last second of the final rutting he'd give him in a long time, as his men would have full rights and access to thoroughly enjoy him after he left. Part of him wished the weasel would prove a useful asset to them down the line, but much of him hoped the ermine's value would never eclipse that of just a cock sleeve. Perhaps, he'd wind up a mixture of both.

Rasping gurgles were most of the noises the weasel made from above his master. Gouts of spit gargled from the back of his tongue, while foamed saliva drained from the corners of his lips. It was a struggle to find enough oxygen through the secreted fluid, but Scurvy kept well aware of how much his slave could manage. His thrusts remained slow and luxurious, intentionally scrubbing the length of his thick appendage against the sensitive insides of the weasel's rectum. Widening his stance, he forced Dragonfly into a position that offered absolutely no leverage anymore.

Fingers teased over plump, swollen dark grey nipples, the raccoon's claws tracing around the circumference of the pronounced areolas. Milk trickled out, the glans starting to dry up, but enough fluid ran to keep Scurvy highly turned on. Bringing his thumbs and index fingers together, he tightly pinched each one, snarling in lust as a spurt of fluid sprayed half a foot into the air. Changing his speed from underneath in return, he bucked several quick pumps of his hips against the enslaved weasel's rear.

There was no doubt his resolve was pretty impressive as he restrained his urges to begin purposefully pounding the ermine with desire laded fury. However, as another minute passed by, the raccoon began trembling with muscular fatigue from holding up the weight of the ermine's frame. Desperate sputters from his slave on top trying to breathe rapidly coursed even more blood to his already engorged cock. Sliding his forefingers into each nipple hoop, Scurvy curled them around like stirrups on a horse's saddle, bit down even harder on the mustelid's nape, and picked up the pace of his rhythmic thrusts.

Whines and whimpers that would have normally slipped out of the ermine's muzzle at this point were distorted by thick globs of spit that hampered the integrity of Dragonfly's airway. It had thickened now to the point that it was too heavy to cough out of his jaws. Rather, it bubbled and pulsed to the sides, allowing him a few ragged gasps. His limbs felt limp and numb, the sensational stimulus arriving solely from his nape, nipples, and asshole. The flexibility of his musteline frame helped him stay comfortable in his master's grip, but lights began to dance in his vision as his head began to grow light.

Pleasure started to take a new, more pervasive form as his oxygen stores slowly drained. Saliva began to slide down into his airway, making him cough weakly and fruitlessly. Each rough, thorough buck into his rear end made his hips spasm as well as helping the thick, foaming drool to slide further down his windpipes. Fingers feebly tore at the carpet as the ermine began to aspirate drool into his trachea. His coughs no longer produced any relief as he began to asphyxiate under a blanket of thick spit.

Scurvy could feel his weasel thrall begin to writhe, even with as little strength as his body could muster. Knowing he wouldn't be able to reach climax soon enough, the raccoon let go of the ermine's neck and used his paws to quickly work the latch free on his ring gag, all while continuing to, now erratically, thrust into his impaled rump. He tossed it aside once free, quickly wrapping his arms around the sex slave's upper chest and squeezing hard.

A spray of saliva splattered over the ermine's face before Dragonfly coughed another wad down over his chin. Desperate heaves of air followed as the ermine worked the spit back away from his lungs, using his freed lips to clear what he could and swallow what he couldn't. After a half minute or so, the ermine's vision had cleared, but in return, his owner had heavily increased the violence of his fucking. The raccoon's fingers had looped back through his nipple rings, yanking downwards with every hilt of his throbbing, rock hard spire. Dribbles of what milk remained in his mammary glands kept the upper half of his torso wet while sweat and precum drenched everything around his pelvic region.

Dragonfly was certain this was the most complete rutting he'd ever suffered through, his whole body feeling ragged beyond comprehension while his libido raged like a rabid fox. His cock was on fire, while his balls both ached from the energy of each buck into his hips and surged with phenomenal joy as blood swelled each into the size of a small tomato. Precum just oozed from his tip like a leaking faucet, each hilt of each lunge into his tailhole spilling a stream out onto his lower belly and crotch. His vision clouded over, this time from the sheer intensity of the exhilarating breeding rather than the starving of air for his brain. Other sensations were systematically ignored, his arms and legs going entirely numb as the physical manifestation of sheer, unbridled, primal need flooded into his loins.

The next minute was almost indescribable, as the weasel's vision fell into a red haze. Ecstasy pulsed through the entirety of his pelvis and ass, each burying of the raccoon shaft inside him rocketing a new pulse of pure pleasure in between his shaking legs. A new feeling of overwhelming stimulation thrummed from his nipples and pecs down into his genitals as he did all he could to increase the strength of the tugs from his master. His gasps grew in volume until the low whine of sheer unabashed sluttery hummed from a body well accustomed to prostitution.

Pitch grew as did the heat in his lower abdomen until Dragonfly was shrieking out as euphoria overtook every fiber of his being. Cum launched from his untouched cock multiple feet into the air, the weasel's whole body going rigid as though he was possessed. Another long throb followed, painting his face, neck, chest, hair, and the carpet. His insides gripped down around the spire inside him like a python, sending even further stimulation through his body as his prostate met additional resistance with each spasm.

Three more thrusts was all Scurvy could hold out for in such a visceral clamping grip before he climaxed the hardest he had in a very long time. Snarls and growls bellowed out from his throat and through firmly clenched teeth. Spunk poured into his slave, hardly even enough of a break between each throb to tell when one ended and the next began. His cock and balls hosed down the ermine's large intestine several feet deep, pouring into his slave with ancient exaltation. Even after Scurvy was sure his balls were empty, more fluid spilled from his softening dick, running down and back out of his abused pucker.

Minutes passed in collective silence, broken only by the shuddering breaths of both males. Eventually, Scurvy regained enough strength to slide his fingers out from the weasel's sperm coated nipple rings, drawing them over his spunk roped chest, smearing the semen deeper into his slave's fur before gathering a large glob on each finger. Pressing them against each matching nostril of the ermine, he rubbed the potent scent of fresh jizz into his nasal canal, ensuring it would be all he smelled for the next several hours.

"There is no fucking...way I'm not going to keep breeding you...your entire time down here. Maybe we can find side value, but your body is far too perfect to not take full advantage of."

Rolling over onto his side, he pulled out of the still shaking weasel. Resting his slave on his stomach, Scurvy leaned down, sitting directly behind his property. His cock nestled into the sopping wet cleft of the bitch's butt, the procyon letting himself relax his internal crotch muscles, finally letting out a long sigh of glorious relief and glee as his bladder began to empty.

A yellow fountain arced over the ermine's prone frame, rapidly saturating his entire head, nape, upper and lower back, and butt in his urine.

Too spent to move, the weasel simply accepted the soaked marking of his body, hardly possessing a shred of protest within his mind. He was, undoubtedly, every bit the material goods his owner claimed him to be. Even though his nose was smothered in the virile aroma of the raccoon's cum, his mouth could almost taste the acrid odor of his bladder's contents as they soaked him to the bone, staining his white fur a muddled yellow. Somewhere along the way, sleep found him. Dragonfly fell into a dreamless void with the fading sensation of a faucet of piss all that joined him on his temporary voyage of respite into the realm of never ending blackness.